“Ghuls,” he said shaking. Fatma realized he wasn’t looking at her. Turning, she lifted the lantern. The light shone across a towering wall of twisted, naked, pale-gray bodies misshapen by the sorcery that rendered their corpses into this mockery of life. The writhing mass clung to each other, barely paying the two living beings any mind. They seemed busy, sharing something between them that glowed faintly in their elongated fingers, devouring it ravenously. “Angel flesh,” Aasim said hoarsely. “They’re eating…”
